The Odds
by allonsyforever
Summary: Haymitch falls for a Capitol girl before his Games. Her name is Effie.
1. Chapter 1

The Odds

_Before his Games, Haymitch met a Capitol girl named Effie. Background story of Hayffie _

Chapter One: The Second Quarter Quell

[PAST. Haymitch has been selected as tribute in the second Quarter Quell, the 50th Hunger Games, to battle double the normal number of tributes. They have arrived in the Capitol and Haymitch, not caring to spend time with his mentor, escort, or the friends he might have to kill, tries to distract himself at the party following the parade. (Events may not be in realistic/canonical order.)]

The room was like nothing he had ever seen before, decorated with bright chandeliers and tablecloths made of materials no one in 12 could afford. The food was even more astounding – and revolting, given the circumstances. It gave him the strong urge to steal as much as he could and run back home, but he knew that he would be caught and probably killed before he left the room. Although he couldn't fathom their lifestyle, he noticed that none of the Capitol citizens seemed particularly threatening – in fact, they seemed ridiculous in their colorful wigs and heavy makeup.

And then he noticed her.

That evening, Haymitch had been planning to avoid all social interaction, but she changed all that in an instant. She was a Capitol girl, so it surprised him that she had the ability to stand out at all, since to him, most of them looked the same – overdressed, tattooed – they even _smelled_ the same to an extent. He couldn't place exactly what was different about her. She wore a short bright blue dress that matched her eyes, pale makeup, long eyelashes, and pink lipstick. Her hair was done up, but unlike many of her counterparts it remained – natural? – blonde. She was devastatingly pretty, and after downing a glass of champagne in one, Haymitch decided he would never see her again, and so he might as well try.

There was no way for either of them to know that this meeting would be as fateful as it was.

However, even as Haymitch set his eyes on the blonde-haired beauty, a Capitol man interfered with his plans, approaching the girl and engaging her in conversation, shoving a glass of something at her, but unless Haymitch's instincts were wrong (and they rarely were), her smile was completely fake. Sweet, but not genuine. He could tell from a mile away when someone was bullshitting, and she was amazing.

Frankly, he was impressed.

Though he mostly leaned against the bar and avoided social interaction, he kept searching for the girl in the blue dress in the crowd as the night wore on, occasionally catching a glance of her dancing with some other man or chatting with a tattooed woman but eventually lost her in the fray. Three times, various tributes approached him and said something about an alliance and three times they were turned down. He knew he should be strategizing, or collecting allies, or charming sponsors, but Haymitch had his own ideas about how he was going to win the Games.

And somehow, he had been able to hold on to that hope since his name had been called. He was going to win. He had to.

The girl in blue had reappeared – and she was alone. She was looking straight ahead as she approached the bar, and so she didn't see the man – the one from earlier – following. Haymitch did, and he actually stood up to interfere if there was trouble, but the man only had to touch her bare shoulder and the girl whipped around, said something he couldn't make out, and firmly stomped on the man's foot with a 4-inch heel. Haymitch turned away to hide his laughter and when he looked up, the girl was sitting down at the bar with her back to the dance floor, and ordering. He couldn't hear what she said, but as Haymitch stood to join her at the other end of the bar he said to the bartender, "It's on me."

She looked up in surprise.

"I think his foot might be bleeding, you know."

"He was being terribly rude. Are you drunk?" she asked, unknowingly foreshadowing the banter in their future.

"Nice to meet you, too," he said as the bartender placed an apple red margarita in front of her.

"Effie," she said somewhat reluctantly, clinking her glass against his. Once he had downed his glass and she had taken a dainty sip, he said, "Haymitch."

Her eyes widened when she recognized the name.

He nodded to affirm her suspicion, and that was all that was said about it. It was the first of many times they merely had to make eye contact to understand one another. It surprised both of them. Effie nervously took another sip of her drink.

"I'm not much for parties," he admitted.

"I love parties," she said, almost like she hadn't heard him. "And the Games do make the best parties."

"This is about half the size of District 12."

"Is it?" She laughed; again, she seemed nervous, like she wasn't sure if she was being polite enough. "I don't suppose I've ever been there."

"You wouldn't like it. Not many parties," he said, and again, she laughed. "I suppose you're here with someone?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I'm…quite alone for the night, actually." She frowned like this was embarrassing.

Haymitch thought quite the opposite.

"Seems like the odds are in my favor, then," he said casually, meeting her subtle blue gaze.

The pink lips smiled for the first time and she quipped, "That was the worst pickup line I've ever heard." He wondered if the smile was real.

"Did it work? Effie?" He held out his hand, and a charming smile brightened his features.

Effie sighed, a reaction to Haymitch that would become all too familiar in later years. She put down her glass, which was nearly empty. "One dance," she said in her Capitol accent, "and that's all."

Haymitch felt his heart inexplicably soar. He was caught between reprimanding himself at playing with this girl's feelings (what if she actually liked him? Chances were he'd be dead by next week) and playing with his own (yes, he thought he actually liked her. Shit).

His hand found her small waist and hers found his shoulder, and then they were dancing. Haymitch had only learned the Capitol way of dancing a few days earlier and he tried to avoid stepping on her feet, and actually regretted about two of the five drinks he'd had so far. The attraction he felt to her was strange to him; the thought that he could even be friends with someone from the Capitol was foreign. But she wasn't so bad. After a few songs, their intertwined hands felt relaxed and natural. And though he hated small talk, he enjoyed listening to her. He thought she knew all she really needed to know about him, so he tried to keep Effie the focus of the conversation. She liked to talk, so this wasn't a difficult task.

"I'm only here because my mother wants me to 'make connections'." She rolled her eyes.

"I don't think I count as a connection," he laughed.

"Well, I'd much rather talk to you than…" She trailed off, not wanting to be overheard, but he followed her gaze to the table where the Gamemakers were overeating.

"Not your career of choice?" He asked as he twirled her around. It was an innocent enough question, but Haymitch knew that it was supposed to be the ambition of all Capitol children to be a Gamemaker. It was a high honor. And although he had never heard of a Capitol citizen getting in trouble for anything, he knew that in the Capitol, being different meant being the enemy. Conforming was the key to success.

She smiled. "Not exactly."

"Then what is?" he asked. "The closest thing I've had to a career is mining, and I don't advise it."

She laughed, but stopped abruptly when a tall woman in a green dress walked by, crying, "Is that Effie Trinket?!" in the most obnoxious way possible. Haymitch hesitantly let Effie go and watched her face transform into the sweetest smile as she kissed both cheeks of the other woman and said, "Ophelia. Lovely to see you, darling, you look _wonderful_..." After a minute of what Haymitch considered painful small talk, Effie gracefully escaped with, "I just _have_ to try that new wine, I'll catch you later!" before grabbing his wrist and whispering quickly, "Let's go somewhere… quieter."

She led him past groups of gossipy women coated in clouds of perfume, other couples floating on the dance floor, and official-looking men with threatening glares to the hallway that led to the kitchen.

"Sorry about that," she said, folding her arms and pacing slowly, her 4-inch silver heels clacking on the floor, "God, she's going to tell my mother everything. I am _so_ sorry, dear, you don't have to stay here, it's awfully rude of me to steal you away from the party like that."

"Trust me, it's not a problem," said Haymitch, who was growing more and more curious about her despite himself. "I was actually hoping to find a way to avoid it altogether, so this is great."

"But don't you…" She was clearly struggling to avoid the obvious: _But you're a tribute._ "Don't you need…."

"Connections?" he asked, amused.

"Hmph!"

"What, what is it?" He was a little tired. Maybe a little drunk. But he couldn't stop looking at this girl in the blue dress with the bluest eyes and the blonde hair and the way she twirled it around one manicured finger.

"We shouldn't be together," she said and he realized she was actually distressed.

"What are you talking about?" Haymitch asked impatiently, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"I have to go," she said suddenly, and he thought she looked pale beneath her makeup.

"Effie!" he called, but she had already vanished into the vast crowd of partygoers.

She was gone.

Haymitch woke up thinking about her.

_This is bad._

Two days to go. One more night in his unfairly comfortable Capitol bed, and then he would be sleeping in a tree or on the shore of some desert island.

Or dead.

He took two aspirin and waited for his hangover to fade, the feeling of her small hand in his conquering his thoughts.

He went through training quickly that morning, talked briefly with his mentor and his escort about what he was going to do to impress the Gamemakers, and wondered where she was. And although he was slightly embarrassed, he asked around.

"Have you heard of a girl called Effie?" he asked an Avox girl quietly after breakfast. She shook her head. He wished there was something he could do for the poor girl, but he knew she was beyond repair, and a smile and a "thank you," were all he could offer.

"I can't remember her last name," he explained to another servant later in the day, and he said, "then I can't help you."

Less than 48 hours until his Games, and Haymitch was thinking about a girl.

Of course, it was better than thinking about the Games.

He even asked his mentor, who asked, "Why? Is she a tribute?" and his escort, who asked if she was a sponsor.

He didn't explain to them who she really was.

That night, Haymitch was the second to last to show off. He threw knives. He wasn't looking for a high score – just a passing grade. He didn't want any attention. He didn't want to be targeted. In short, he was playing it smart. He scored a 5, and his mentor and escort were pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, Haymitch returned to his room after dinner. He was only there about ten minutes when there was a soft knock.

In his pajamas, he opened the door to see –

"Effie," he said in surprise, but she was already slipping under his arm and into the room.

"For heavens' sake, close the door!" she whispered hurriedly. "Someone will see."

He did as he was told and turned to face the girl he'd been thinking about all day.

"I've been looking for you since I woke up," he said, and she smiled.

"I know," she replied, and he laughed somewhat embarrassedly. "Don't apologize," she said quickly when he opened his mouth. "I was looking for you, too. I'm – I am sorry about last night. I wasn't very polite."

"No, I – I didn't realize –"

"I just got nervous," she said quickly. "I like you, Haymitch, I really do, but – you must hate me."

"Quite the contrary, princess."

"But I'm – I'm from the Capitol! I'm worried about being seen with you because of what my mother and her friends will think! I'm worried about my social status! How much more spoiled can I get?"

Haymitch could hardly believe what he was hearing. "No, no, see, that's what makes you different," he said, moving closer. "You know. Most of them, they just…go along with it. They accept that that theirs is the only way and they don't ask questions. You're smart, Effie. It's not your fault you were born and raised here. It's their fault that they gave you shitty values."

She smiled at this. "I always want to do something about it, but I don't know what there is to be done."

Haymitch scratched the back of his neck. "You could…help a tribute?"

Effie laughed, and then she turned to look around his room. "Do you what will happen if I get caught in here?" she asked more seriously.

"Snow will chop off your head?"

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"Shut up. No, I would just lose any chance of ever being anything. Or anyone."

"And you risked all that to be with me?" Haymitch moved closer.

Effie looked up at him. "You're worth it."

"Are you just saying that because I might die tomorrow?"

"Haymitch, don't joke about it."

"I might only have twenty-four hours left live, I get to do…" He whispered, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear, "what I want."

"You can't think that way."

"Don't tell me you want me to win," he said softly, one hand drifting to her waist, the other finding hers, fingers intertwining.

Effie took the hint and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, and they danced to the silence and the time that was ticking slowly away.

Her hair was still blonde; her eyes were bluer than he remembered, her voice softer, and her laugh easier as he whispered in her ear about all of the places he would go with her if only they had the time.

IT WAS LATE when they finally stopped dancing and Haymitch simply held her to him, relieved to have another person in the room with him. He couldn't imagine going through this night alone.

"I don't want this to end," Effie murmured.

"Then stay with me," said Haymitch into her shoulder.

"People will talk if I'm out all night…."

"Let them talk," he said, kissing her jawbone, "I need you to stay."

"I shouldn't," she said quietly, but it was half-hearted, he could tell.

"Please," said Haymitch, kissing her hand and meeting her gaze, and he knew she would.

Like their victors would years later, Haymitch and Effie stayed together that night to help one another sleep. He woke with his arm curled around her protectively, watching with dread as the clock ticked toward 6:00 A.M.

"Wake up, princess," he murmured, and she shifted.

"What time is it?"

"Time for you to go, if you don't want to get in trouble."

"And time for you to get ready," she breathed.

Moments later, Haymitch was peering out his door into an empty hallway. "Go," he whispered, but instead Effie flung herself at him, and he caught her, returning her embrace, but he reminded her, laughing, "You have to go."

Her blue eyes were wide. "Good luck."

"Thanks, love. I'll need it."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips once, briefly, enough. It was time.

"You're going to win," she told him firmly.

"I'm going to try. Any advice?"

Effie nodded, and the panic in her eyes was real. "Stay alive."


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch, of course, managed to take her advice and stay alive. It was not a pleasant feat, and through the haze of drugs he was given to begin the long healing process, he was almost as nervous leaving the arena as he had been entering it, knowing that finding out about the forcefield would not go unpunished. He was correct, and a week later, his family and his girl from District 12 were dead.

He was numb.

And he drank to forget. To forget the nightmares, to put himself to sleep, to forget the people he loved and how cruelly and unfairly they had died, to forget that it was all his fault. He drank every time he felt guilty.

He passed out at night and woke up with a raging headache more often than not.

Eventually, he was forced to stop drinking himself to sleep by the Victory Tour, but that couldn't stop him from creating a reputation for being emotionless, undesirable, and drunk. He couldn't look at them; he had watched their children die. Killed some of them.

And he had all but forgotten about the Capitol girl called Effie Trinket when he reached the Capitol and was forced to experience a very similar party to the one where he'd met her almost a year earlier.

Everyone wanted to meet him, and those who actually approached him were rather unlucky. Most received a rude hand gesture, but others were threatened by his knife, which was taken away about an hour into the evening. He asked to be escorted out several times but the security guards refused to let him go. When his mentor and escort weren't looking, he drank champagne like it was water.

He didn't care what they thought of him. He had nothing left to lose.

He was drunk and stumbling to his room when he heard a voice he thought was familiar, arguing with some guard.

"I'm going to be an escort, I have to meet him."

"Miss Trinket, I'm afraid Mr. Abernathy is not taking visitors."

"I'm not a visitor! I don't have to go in. I just want to speak with him. Oh, please just let me meet him, introduce myself – "

"I'm taking visitors," said Haymitch loudly as the girl and the guard came into view, standing outside his room. "And I'll be here all night," he added upon seeing her pink dress and orange hair. Her face turned the same shade as her skirt when he spoke, and she was plainly unimpressed. The guard shook his head and said, "Well, there you go," and walked away.

Haymitch unlocked the door to his room and said, "Well?" but she stayed in the hallway, shaking her head. "What?" he asked impatiently, vision blurring as he leaned against the door for support.

"You don't remember me, do you?" It was true; Effie had changed, not just in appearance; her attitude, her job, and her ambitions were different now, too.

"I don't remember you because I don't know anyone here. I don't like it here," he added frankly.

She stepped back, alarmed and annoyed by his drunkenness. "Maybe you'll remember tomorrow," she sighed, turning to go.

"They killed ev'ryone I love," he called after her, watching the orange heels click to a stop, turning to face him again. "There's no one left, so don't be offended. I just didn't really care about anyone else."

She turned away to hide the tears stinging her eyes suddenly. She knew that what he was saying was true, even if he was drunk. She'd heard the rumors. He'd had a girlfriend in District 12. And a family. She was nothing – she had been a mere distraction the night before the Games.

"Good night, Haymitch," said Effie.

Haymitch woke up with another raging headache and severe déjà vu, thinking about a girl with orange hair and pale makeup. What on Earth…?

It took him a few minutes after taking two aspirin to remember the night before the Games. "Before the Games" was not a time Haymitch liked to think about, because it was gone. There was nothing left from before that remained, except, apparently, her. She had managed to escape their notice, probably because she had only known him for about twenty-four hours and meant little to him, compared to those back home. Effie. Finally, he remembered her name.

It took him a few more minutes to feel remotely bad about the way he had treated her. He felt very little remorse. What had she gone through? Had her heart broken? What had she expected, sneaking into a tribute's room the night before the Games? Whatever she was so upset about, it was nothing compared to what he had experienced, nothing next to the nightmares he had. Nothing.

And that was why the next time Haymitch saw Effie, he was caught off guard, because the next time he saw Effie Trinket, she was pulling names at the reaping in District 12.


End file.
